Kigali

Rwanda is a tiny blip on the map, meaning the capital to anywhere and vice versa is achievable in less than a day. With this in mind we were in no rush to get out of the picturesque Rusumu area. We woke naturally and took a seat at the balcony overlooking the accelerating river water as it approached the falls we had crossed the day before. Personifying the essence of life Di and I had a ridiculous conversation about whether the water knew its inevitable fate whilst we waited for the chef to prepare our breakfast. An hour later we lethargically rose, collected our bags and went to find a van to Kigali.

We found an empty van at the suggested location. It was empty and from experiences in Tanzania and Ethiopia this meant we weren't leaving any time soon. With no other options in sight we paid for two seats to the capital. Amazingly we were actually given tickets. They even had a departure time printed on them, could it be possible. We stuffed our bags in the back and waited to see if we would leave on time. We had 50 odd minutes to pass so we sat on a concrete slab and watched the antics of the locals. They were taking bets on who could balance on their bike the longest. It looked like quite a bit of money was changing hands. Their was plenty of laughing and a clear victor. To back it up the winner then took more bets about how many static tricks he could perform. It was a riot to watch their reactions as he balanced in all sorts of positions, we got the impression that he could hold many indefinitely.

Time flew by and to our bewilderment there were still a couple of empty seats in the van when we pulled away on time. The trip took a few hours and on the way we were treated to some amazing country. With not a square metre of flat ground or a patch of dusty soil to be seen it was hard to believe we were still in Africa. Evidence of Rwanda's intense population density was abundant. As soon as the signposts indicated we had left one town, we were apparently entering another. I wondered how the council even decided where to put them sometimes.

Upon arrival we were utterly lost. We expected to be miles out of town due to the lack of multi-story buildings and congestion but after a brief investigation we found out we were only a few hundred metres from down town. We searched briefly for a hotel but most were prohibitively priced. We took a cheapish option and tucked into the buffet on offer. Once my plate was licked clean I hauled my bursting stomach around the local streets. We didn't really do much except get a taste for Rwanda.

That night Di refused to have another buffet dinner so we wound up at a flashy Indian restaurant. The food was delicious but it ended up being our most expensive feed since leaving home. We had no regrets though as we paid the bill, that's what capitals are for. You know that until you hit the next capital the menus won't vary in the slightest.

Our second day in Kigali was reserved for one purpose, to visit the genocide museum. So long after day broke we hired two motorcycles to drop us at the gate. Di and I held hands and gave each other a "here we go" look before crossing the threshold. At the entrance we were given a short brief about the museum and we headed into the exhibition.

The first and most significant section of the museum was about the Rwandan genocide. It followed the chronology of the atrocity from its build-up to the after mass. It was very informative and impressively set out. Every aspect had a professional touch. Following the statistics and political information we were confronted by hundreds of family photos of the deceased. The numbers were staggering but I felt a compulsion to give at least every one a glance. At times it becomes too much; knowing that everyone in the photos had died for nothing. In the middle of the room was a projector which shot interviews of some survivors onto a large blank wall. The stories were told by adults who had been children at the time. They focused mainly on the experiences these people had gone through, watching their family be murdered was the common theme. It was heart wrenching footage and I tried to put myself in their shoes. I couldn't, the thought was unbearable and I blocked it out.

The next room had articles of clothing from the victims. It would not have been so touching except that we could relate them to the people we saw daily on the street. Many Africans have a tendency to wear t-shirts printed with hilariously inappropriate slogans as they can't understand what they say. This category of attire was represented and it increased the humanness of the dead. Again a projector was screening interviews with the survivors. The people were the same but this time the editor made the discussion point their families before the event. For me this was the most emotional part. I know what it's like to have a loving family and it was beyond my capacity to imagine them torn away as had happened to the interviewees.

As we ascended the stairs out of the first display I wondered if I could handle another two whole areas. I had an obligation to. If people in the west saw the personal devastation caused by genocide they would never sit by and watch it happen. The second section was a montage of genocides from around the world. All the most well known genocides and a couple of the more under spoken were represented. Again the display was informative and very professional.

The final section was the one I dreaded the most. A part of the building dedicated entirely to the child victims. I entered with trepidation. in contrast to the previous rooms this was noticeably minimalist by design. A simple corridor, painted white. Positioned along the walls were lecterns with blown up photos of children and brief descriptions of them, what they liked, their personalities etc. It was easy to see what the architect had in mind when he conceived the idea. To represent the innocence of the children murdered. Yet somehow it fell a little short. Whilst it was still touching it was missing a personal feel. We even managed a laugh in such macabre surroundings when we read the description of a 5 month old baby's personality: "cried a lot".

The last stop was the comment box. The display had been excellent, some of the information had become obsolete since print, a few statements were contradictory and their was no mention of the Tasmanian Aborigines which is the only 100% complete recorded genocide. These were all minor gripes and in no way impacted on the informative and touching memorial. Di and I grabbed a drink and a seat to recover.

During the trip back to the hotel a dust storm whipped up. Not keen to bear the conditions we retired to an internet cafe for the rest of the afternoon. We were drawn from our quarters some time later by what sounded like live music. We followed our ears to a hall nearby. Through the holes in the walls we could see a choir with band accompaniment singing beautifully. The gates were locked so we just peered through the holes. A lady came running up and showed us another entrance. We sat and watched them sing and play for about half an hour. It was a memorising performance. Good singers are a dime a dozen in Africa so whilst back home the hall would be packed there was only other man watching on silently.

As we got up to leave a man came to greet us. He explained that they were a church group who got together to sing on a regular basis. He welcomed us back any time and we parted in search of dinner.